


What it means to be human

by HoshisamaValmor (HannibalCatharsis)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Depression, Drug Use, Dysfunctional Family, Father-Son Relationship, Historical References, Old Age, Violence, cause I never lose an opportunity to make a WWII reference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-05-29 15:57:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15076625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HannibalCatharsis/pseuds/HoshisamaValmor
Summary: Elijah offered Carl an android as company. Carl found a son instead.





	1. Android

.

"That is the gloomiest face I've ever seen."

The dry, sneering chuckle Carl threw at the young man didn't dispel the beforementioned gloomy expression.

"Hello, Elijah. It's been a while."

Elijah nodded with a smile. Carl pushed the wheelchair to the side to allow him to enter, but Elijah remained by the doorframe. He was accompained by a tall handsome man neither him or Elijah had acknowledged. As he caught Carl eyeing the man, Elijah's smile widened.

"I just knew I'd find you in this mood, so I came prepared."

"Prepared for what?" Carl asked. He hadn't been talking much lately; his voice sounded hoarse and bitter, more than usual, even to his ears.

"May we come in?"

"Why the hell do you think I stepped out of the door? Or rolled out, anyway."

Elijah gestured the android to enter before him. Yes, android - Carl was clearly starting to turn blind as well; he hadn't immediately realized the tall handsome man wasn't a man at all. If not for anything else, the clothing was denouncing, all those gleaming bright blue lights patched over the fabric. Those should have attracted all the attention immediately, but both the robot and Elijah were the same height, towering over Carl ( _all the more reasons for the clothes to stand out, you old fool,_ he thought). And as he had been looking at Elijah's face, he had looked over to the android's face as well. With the angle blocking the blue LED on its right temple, it looked realistic enough to be easily mistaken for a human.

"You've changed your tastes, Elijah?"

His friend tried to imitate Carl's earlier dry chuckle; a poor mockery, as he lacked the bitterness of old age. Carl knew Elijah's masterpiece, Chloe, the beautiful blonde android that had allowed the breakthrough for the next step of evolution, and had correctly taken that as Elijah's type. Carl could picture the young man one day having a mansion filled with a handful of identical beauties. He might have some reasons to be accompained by another type of android instead of that beautiful creation - the blonde attracted quite a bit of attention, obviously - but Carl wasn't really interested to know why he had changed escourt, specially as he was starting to sense an ulterior motive for the android's presence.

"Come now, don't be like that. How have you been doing these days, Carl?"

"Majestic," Carl said ironically and not too pleasantly. He caught a hold of himself and inhaled slowly. The air exhaled even slower. He was acting like a child. "Forgive me. Can I offer you something to drink?"

"I'd love to."

They sat at the living room where Carl poured them both some scotch. When the android stood there, just standing up, Carl threw a complain at Elijah. The man ordered the android to sit down.

The conversation wasn't unpleasant. Elijah wasn't patronizing enough to bestow veiled words of pity, nor cynical enough to try to hide the fact that seeing Carl's condition, physical and mental, sadden him. He tried to pick interesting topics of conversation, guiding Carl towards reminiscencing about art or literature.

Elijah was a genius alright, but he was still a stupid young kid if he thought he could play the psychiatrist and not have Carl see through the act.

"Don't even try, Elijah," he cut him short. Elijah took the time to play confused with the statement, but Carl's glare made him reconsider that approach.

"I'm not trying anything, Carl. I'm worried about you. You don't contact anyone. You've lost interest in all the things that have always kept you going..."

"I'm old. I've done everything I could, tried everything I could. It's just the natural evolution of things."

"Don't throw the fatalist speech at me, please."

"I'm  _old_. I'm dying of old age. I may have cancer. I'm a damn invalid,  _my legs don't move._ I need help to take a fucking shower. I'm tired of living and I've already lived what I had to live. What's fatalistic about that?"

Elijah let out a breath and averted his gaze. He didn't have the audacy to roll his eyes, like Leo would certainly have done. Rather than make a renewed attempt at a positive by-the-book speech, Elijah lowered his glass.

"Your caretaker."

"What about her?"

"Have you finally decided to move her into the house and give her a full-time job?"

"No. I don't need a 24/7 nurse. Not yet."

"I don't see how your fatalism going unchecked is the best option." Before Carl could tell him to get lost or worse, he added: "You force me to narrow this conversation to the essentials. I brought you a gift, one I certainly do not accept any returns."

As he imagined. Carl eyed the android, who had remained silent for the whole conversation, looking at both of them as an attentive child.

"I don't need an unpayed employer. I have enough money to pay for the help I do need."

"I'm not offering you an unpayed employer, I'm offering you company." Seeing as the android would do all the work for free, it was the same. "If you are such an old man, a millennial or whatever was the trend you dubbed yourselves with back in the 70's or 80's of last century, then you should know better than anyone that old people need company. It's just the natural evolution of things."

For all the bitterness he was throwing at him, Carl couldn't fully blame Elijah for his comeback. Still, it stung to hear his own words thrown back at him.

"So here." He waved towards the android. "Someone who can hear you complain and yell and curse all damn day and not mind it one bit."

At that, the android seemed to find the opportunity to speak.

"I apologize for having not introduced myself, but I didn't want to interrupt your conversation." He had a pleasant voice. Damn androids were built to perfection. "My name is Markus. I would be very glad to keep you company and help you in your daily tasks."

Carl shot Elijah a renewed glare. The android wasn't at fault. Elijah was the mastermind behind the programming. The puppeteer shrugged, innocence displayed in his features.

"And, without intending to sound rude, I think it would be advisable for you to have company, someone for you to exteriorize all your fatalist thoughts rather than accumulate them inside," the android added.

Carl could see the little spark of fascination in Elijah's eyes, perhaps like pride or love a father feels for their child's sudden conquest. Well, he was the one behind all the programming, so supposely all of it was predetermined and expected, with some room for improvisations. Perhaps these variations in the program were as interesting to him as unexpectedly positive turnouts in paintings had been for Carl.

He finally took the time to look at the android attentively, now that he knew he couldn't complain further without only adding more arguments to Elijah's cause - arguments he didn't need to begin with, not when the young man was as persuasive and sneaky. The android's posture was somewhat stiff, but it could easily pass as the posture of a serious man. As realitiscal looking as androids were, Carl could always detect the little flaws: the slightly-too-perfect skin or detail in the eyes that denounced them immediately regardless of all their LED lights. However, this android was remarkably realistic. They were being manufactured in all shapes and colors (an improviment, if Carl was to form an opinion on the subject) but they still fell into that flaw-by-perfection, as far as he had seen. This android - hell, was he going to keep calling him that way? Markus was simpler - Markus seemed too beautiful to be real, and yet something about him deceived the eye. He looked human.

"He is a one-of-a-kind-model," Elijah added, thinking it would be a nice additional information. "He's the only RK200 model ever built. An exclusive, unique work of art. Just like your paintings."

"Deep down, you're a poet, Elijah," Carl jested.

"I write poetry through code. 'Natural evolution of things' and all that."

.

to be continued

.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I intended this to be a single chapter fic, but I think this part turned out longer than I would have wanted it to to follow my initial plan, therefore I'll be splitting this into one or two more chapters.
> 
> I just wanted to write something with Carl and Markus and explore a bit more their earlier relationship until the point when Carl helped Markus become human and Markus helped Carl to find life again.
> 
> I obviously don't own anything related to Detroit Become Human!


	2. Stranger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I normally list and give a shoutout to people who give feedback between chapters, but this time the reaction was so unexpectedly and amazingly large I can't fit everyone here without making a huge intro. Thank you so much! I'm so happy this little idea seems interesting to so many of you! I hope I don't disappoint.
> 
> I didn't mention in the first chapter, but since according to one of the magazines in the game, Elijah got out of CyberLife shortly after 2028, this story is set around that time. I'm taking Carl's accident as having been a recent event, hence the reactions and some of the scenes you'll see in this chapter. Also, one of the points of this story is to show that Carl and Markus have been around each other for quite a while - doing the math, they would have lived around a decade together. And that they suffered quite a bit of evolution throughout that timespan.
> 
> Oh and also sorry for some odd phrasings in the previous chapter (and likely this one too). I can't seem to overcome this hindrance in English. Please point out the mistakes you find!
> 
> Warnings: drug use, depression

 

There was no denying that androids were pieces of art. Carl couldn't (and didn't want to) understand all the intricacies of how they were designed and built, but the result was undoubtfully mesmerizing. He had lived to see the sci-fi dreams of his childhood and adulthood come true. Now he even had one of these dream-like creatures in his house. Elijah and people like him were artists; the next generation artists. It was rather baffling how, each time, people achieved brilliancy earlier in their lives. Then again, that was a transcendental feeling any generation felt about the one that followed them.

However, it was hard to appreciate all those wonders when they burst in your life and became your nannies.

"Good morning, Carl. It's 9AM. It's a sunny day, 68º."

Carl groaned a complaint, trying to roll to the side in defiance. His ribs protested immediately and he was forced to face resignation to both Markus's wake up call and his own damn old body. What a way to start the day. Resignation.

"Why did you wake me up this early?"

"You got several calls from two different journalists. One of them is the young man that had the interview scheduled to..."

"I don't want to answer any calls or give any interviews. Don't answer any calls or reply emails from any of them."

"Do I reply to the journalist who had the article scheduled with you?"

"For God's sake, I don't care. Do whatever you want."

"I need you to tell me what to-"

"Markus, get out now. I want to sleep."

Markus seemed about to ask something else, but Carl interrupted him before he could. He closed the curtains and exited the bedroom soundlessly.

Alone, Carl had no trouble picking up the reason why he was so particularly irritable, and it had nothing to do with cranky morning mood. He had suffered through this enough times, as a young man and now recently, to know withdrawal was rummaging and prodding every single one of his nerves. It had been just three days since Elijah had left Markus there, and in that entire time, Carl hadn't consumed a single dose. To just think it would eventually reach a week was a torture; it was impossible to hold on for that long. If it was hard to fight it when he was younger, now the cramps rippling through his body were just a bit too much.

He knew Markus would certaily be programmed to react to self-harming behaviours; Elijah wasn't fooling Carl in the slightest. Under the pretense of 'company', he had basically infiltrated a prevention control unit inside his own house. Markus was certainly riddled with sensors that would trigger alarms to every medical center in the entire state of Detroit, if not a direct link to Elijah himself, just so he would know in case Markus detected something...

No. No, Elijah wouldn't do that. That was stepping into paranoia - the sign of dementia. He wasn't senile yet. But it was hard to fight paranoia when his old brain was staggered by withdrawal.

Paranoia had had its benefits in these past three days, for sure; he hadn't tried to smoke heroin because he was certain that if a human being could notice the numbness that still remained even after the high was over, then surely an android would notice it even more. And Carl might just forget to conceal some of the foil or leave a smudged fingerprint somewhere, one a human might have to guess where it came from, but an android would have absolutely no doubt after scanning it for one second. That was the thinking process that had kept him going.

Now, it was starting to get a bit too much, and he was already starting to consider all the alternatives he could find so he could smoke. Sending Markus away with some excuse, or just do it with him in the house and not minding at all... because after all, why was he even bothering to worry about it, anyway? Markus was a machine. Carl could tell him to adjust his programming, to erase his memory or something. But that was also the problem - again, Elijah was the one behind that program. Surely he had written some directive to forbid the caretaker android from allowing their owner to overstep the safety protocols; something that might allow the owner to bypass all those safeties and, in an extreme scenario, commit suicide under their watch.

So, no. He couldn't just do it in front of him.

But hell if he was gonna turn a prisioner in his own home. Let alone emprisioned by a machine.

Now that he was effectively awake and couldn't find the strength to sleep even a second longer, Carl called out for Markus and told him to prepare some breakfast. As Markus took him downstairs and stopped the wheelchair by the living room's table, Carl was making an effort to mentally list as many products as he could recall to be on opposite sides on the supermarket, to make Markus work that extra mile that would keep him away longer. A simplistic way, but a reasonable one, to get him out of the house for some time. Carl quickly searched for a clean notebook and scribbled down the list, adding one of two stupid groceries just for the sake of it. He wondered for a moment if making his handwriting purposefully harder to grasp would be helpful or not.

"Markus!"

"Yes, Carl?" The sound of the running tap in the kitchen ceased.

"I need you to go get some groceries."

"Of course." Markus appeared some moments later in the living room, hands already dried. "What do you need?"

Carl lifted the piece of paper in his direction. Markus picked it up and his eyes surveyed through the lines quickly. Carl noted how the bright LED on his temple turned yellow for some seconds.

"We still have a bottle of oil, as well as wine." he pointed out, much to Carl's annoyance. "I bought apples yesterday, so they shouldn't spoil until-"

"Are you going to select what I want to buy and eat now?"

"Of couse not, Carl. I apologize. I'll just finish preparing the breakfast."

"Leave it. I'm not hungry. You can go take care of the groceries now."

Markus gently dropped the piece of paper on the table and turned, preparing to leave.

"Aren't you going to take the list?" Carl asked, and immediately he frowned at his own stupidity. He already knew the answer he was going to get before Markus even spoke.

"I've already memorized it."

Of course he did.

Carl scoffed at himself and focused on what was important now. As soon as he heard Markus say goodbye and the front door closing, he rested his back against his wheelchair and breathed out in relief. Solitude never had seemed as pleasant as now.

He traced back to his bedroom again, scavaging through the drawers of one of the dressers to find the small heroin plastic bag. Like a teenager hiding pot from their parents. That was he had been reduced to. He hadn't done this even when he was a teenager.

He wasn't going to try these new drugs circulating nowadays, synthetic and plastified, all of them. There even was Red Ice now; meth spiced up with android blood. Heroin might not be what it used to be, but it was what he knew and what he had tried before. He didn't want to try anything new; he was old. His teenage experiments with heavy drugs were all he needed to know to chose which one he'd turn to now that he was old, broken and dying. He had tried all there was to try.

What he had told Elijah was true; he had nothing more to do. He had already tried and done everything he wanted to. He was tired. He had the right to be tired. If all that was left for him was a chemical relief, who had the right to tell him he couldn't?

He stopped thinking, blessfully, as soon as the heroin did its purpose. The black-striped foil piece and its foil tube, the bag with the remaining powder, the lighter, he forgot all of them and all the evidences he had been worried to conceal before. He rested his head back, relieved. Just pure relief, like he could finally breathe in and out, at last. The relaxation was what he strived for more than the euphoria rush itself. His body would finally, at last, allow itself to rest, to not mind its ache, its broken state. It was a blessing. A fleeting feeling, but at least a real one, even if but for a handful of minutes.

Eventually, he started to feel something soft, soothing. At first distantly, faded out between the mist of blissful numbness, slowly growing clearer and more grounding. A sound, a touch. A voice, a hand.

"Carl."

He struggled to lift his eyelids. He wasn't very successful. The hand moved slowly over his cheek, thumb massaging the skin, trying to use the contact to reawaken his stupified nerves.

"Carl, can you hear me?"

"...arkus."

He tried again. This time, his eyelids fluttered and he opened his eyes. The bright light on Markus's temple was clearer than his face, shining and flickering yellow.

"Everything's alright. How are you feeling, Carl?" Markus's touch raised to his eyes, and he pushed the eyelid up softly with more efficency than Carl's previous attempt. It didn't do much to improve Carl's vision of him, but clearly Markus was confirming something by doing that. Pupil dilation. Of course, that was always the standard procedure of this type of things.

"...you're back," he said, voice dragged. His mouth was hideously dry.

"It's been one hour. I wanted to make sure you were alright."

Markus removed his hand from his face. Carl realized how he suddenly missed the touch, the groundness of it.

"Carl. Did you send me out so you could use drugs?"

Under the heroin high, the heated discussion Carl had imagined that might elapse was now reduced to a whispered, drowsy confession.

"I feel like a prisioner in my own house. I can't do what I want."

"My program prevents me from allowing you to harm yourself, Carl."

"I know. I can't even die alone in peace if I want to."

"Did you plan to do it now?"

Carl shook his head. He had prepared to continue answering, but his brain dozed off in that sleep-like lethargy.

"I had noticed an abnormal increase of arrhythmia that was changing your breathing rates. It could be caused by stress, but I couldn't be sure if it was withdrawal from opiates."

Dozing on and off himself, Carl had difficulty following Markus's words. He blinked, trying to process and to hold his focus on the moment rather than dozing off again.

"You had noticed... what?"

"I had noticed abnormal breathing rates. Your stress levels were increasing, and it was hindering your breathing. I couldn't know for sure, and I didn't want to meddle. But I see it was because of withdrawal."

"You... hadn't found anything, had you?"

"I didn't want to invade your personal space."

Carl scoffed humorlessly and without much strength. Messing through his personal things would be invading personal space, but now living in his house wasn't. It was an honestly genuine, utterly naive, thinking process.

"You're not bad, Markus... but you're not helpful here."

"I have access to a series of psychology and psychiatric manuals, and I can choose what the best approach may be. But I can't be sure because studies are always made over statistics, and you are different from anyone else. What may be helpful to someone else may not work for you. I don't know how I can help you if you don't help me do it, Carl."

"Then I think you'll have to find another owner, Markus, because I don't want to be helped."

"Carl..."

"What the hell do you know about me, Markus?"

"I know you are intelligent. You..."

"Do you know how I got in the accident?" Heroin numbed all his concerns, or shame, or anger, away. "I was drunk. I could have killed someone... Do you know how many cars I hit before I finally hit the railroad?"

"No."

"Three. I could have killed someone, all because I was a stupid..."

"But you didn't kill anyone."

"And now I can't walk... I can't move... I'm emprisioned. I've turned into a baby. You don't understand... what it's like to not be free. To be punished. I don't want to do anything. I can't even look at a canvas. I just want to..." Carl's head dropped slowly against his chest. "The only thing I want is to lay down and die."

"You have a son, don't you?"

Carl shook his head. "Leo is a teenager. Teenagers don't care about their parents... I barely know him."

"Why not?"

"I don't want to, Markus... I don't want anything. I can't do anything anymore, I can't..."

"You don't need a big goal in your life, Carl. Not now, when you feel you have seen and done it all. That's not what will keep you going."

"I don't want..."

"Can you let me try?" Markus lifted his hands and cupped them around his face again, helping him lift head back up so they could look at each other. "I need you to help me do it."

"No, Markus."

Carl noted how the LED was still flickering yellow. His expression was heavy, almost like he was hurt.

"Then let me help you lay down. I will stay-"

"I want to sleep. You can leave me alone."

.

The following day started in a similar way as the previous: Markus greeting him and Carl groaning in complain. It felt like the beginning of a repetition that forebode a mechanical repetitive dynamic that befalls any old dying people, no matter how much Carl had tried to avoid or deny it for himself. After all, this had already started with his former caretaker. He wasn't as cranky today, but the chemical confession of the previous day seemed to have further drained Carl of his remaining strength.

He didn't feel like replying to Markus's questions (which were few on their own) as he helped Carl through his morning hygiene and helped him dress. When Markus lowered Carl to his wheelchair, he noticed how the LED was once again flickering yellow, as if he was processing some information. Carl caught himself wondering for a moment if he was mentally reading those manuals and articles he had mentioned before (the wonders of not being human), but quickly let the subject go, not wanting to waste time even thinking he was going to get an useless lecture.

They were already downstairs in the living room, TV pointlessly airing its news broadcast to no one, when Markus finally explained the reason behind the light signal.

"I would like to tell you something."

Carl frowned towards the android, not really sure of what would follow but expecting it to be annoying or patronizing. Markus wasn't bad, really; he wasn't bad at all, but it was pointless. He would start pouring out some words he read somewhere.

"I have ordered a series of books online, with delivery scheduled for today."

Ok, this round Markus won. Carl's wasn't near correct.

"You did what?"

"I thought we could try something different today," Markus replied, smiling to Carl's skeptical - and rather relunctantly curious - frown. "I've ordered books from some of the authors you have in your library, to make sure they would be of your interest. I've also ordered books of different genres of the ones you seem more interested in. It's possible to ask for a refund on all of them, so if you want to, they can all be returned with no hindrance."

There was a small whirlwind of confused questions swirling in his mind. Carl was going to ask the most logical one out of them, 'How do you have aceess to my bank account?' before he answered it to himself. Of course he had access, he already paid several things in the past days. Androids get a direct link between their hard drive and the owner's bank account at the time of purchase for security and comfort purposes, specially when the owner is an elder. Of course, seeing as Markus wasn't bought, Elijah had just politely overstepped that  _small_  detail of privacy and linked it himself. Sure, Carl still had to authorize transactions, but apparently, his authorization allowed for this too.

He was about to ask why Markus had decided to order more books (or, alternatively, prepared to complain about it) when the android spoke:

"I have also ordered a prescription of painkillers and requested a detox drug treatment to a clinic center."

Carl blinked.

"What?"

"Methadone has too many side effects and its efficency in opiate detoxification has a mixed opinion, so I thought it would be best if we started with something lighter and analyse your reaction and evolution to decide if you need a better treatment, one given to you by specialists. I cannot provide your medical history without your consent, so with time you may decide if you would prefer to have your treatment here in your home or not."

Carls hand froze midhair on its way to the coffee mug.

"Excuse me?"

"It's not healthy for a person your age to abruptly cut off heroin usage. Methadone and other opiate detox drugs have a success rate and I can monitor and administer them to you. Buprenorphine can be ordered at the clinic but it must be administered with naloxone. Acamprosate has been used for alcohol detox but it has proved its benefits with opiate detox as well, and its adverse effects..."

"Can you please cut off with the information dump?"

Markus fell silent for a moment.

"I'm sorry, Carl. I will try to be less... thorough... in my replies."

Amongst that swirl of surprises, that small hesitation managed to register to Carl; did it come from his computer brain trying to search and adjectives until it formed a suitable one? Those micro details really did help to make his life-like image.

"You want to detox me at home?"

"I thought it could be best to begin this way. You probably don't feel like going out of the house."

He was right on that one. "And the books? I don't need more books."

"You haven't read these yet."

"I don't want to read." Even to his own ears, he sounded like a baby putting up a tantrum. But he didn't care.

Markus was unfazed by Carl's attitude, which in turn worked to make him self conscious of his posture. It was as if he was expecting that response already.

"Yesterday I heard you speak without complaint. Today, I would like you to please do me the same kindness."

Carl frowned in confusion. Shortly after, he understood what Markus meant. After the delivery arrived in the first hours of the afternoon, Markus read him all the titles and asked him to pick one. When he didn't, Markus picked one for him and asked if he could read it outloud for him.

Carl wasn't the slightest bit interested in the contents of the book, but he resigned to the fact that he had nothing else to do in the afternoon and if he didn't focus on something, he would start focusing on tingling withdrawal. So he granted Markus's request and sat looking to the window, listening to his voice. He didn't recall anyone ever reading him a book, not even his parents.

The day went by faster than he remembered happening lately.

Markus did the same the next day, asking if he wanted to continue the book or change to another subject. As Carl didn't pick any, Markus continued with the contemporary painting book, reading outloud for him technique explanations and styles Carl already knew by heart. The painkillers delivery arrived, and Markus gave him the first dosage that numbed some of the increasing symptoms and cramps that were already starting to pinch his body. It wasn't too effective because he knew it wasn't heroin, but it was a slow start.

They reached one week living together and Carl barely noticed the date. Instead, he spent the entire afternoon in his all but abandoned studio, answering Markus's questions and explaining how many of the things he had been reading in the book were wrong.

.

to be continued

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not too satisfied with this chapter, and I had a lot of difficulty to pick up a song list to help me (ended up with Linkin Park's 'Papercut' and Mike Shinoda's 'Over Again' remixed by zwieR.Z and Serj Tankian songs) but I'm hoping the next one will make up for it. And that it will come faster.
> 
> Thanks for reading.


	3. Acquaintance

"Carl, I don't..."

"I thought we had agreed on mutual compromising. I've been going through the detox treatment without complaining, and believe me _I want to_. So now it's your turn to do something for me as well."

"But there's no point. I don't need-"

"Markus, please."

If someone came in the living room that moment and saw the look of confusion on Markus's face, complete with the flickering yellow LED on his temple, they might have thought Carl had just ordered him to transform the couch into an airplane.

"I don't need to sleep, Carl," he said again, as if by repeting he could finally make Carl understand his point. "My battery doesn't require recharging."

It was like convincing a stubborn child to do a very simple but important task, only he was trying to teach an adult, an android.

"You're up twenty four hours per day. If you sit down and rest for one hour, it won't do you any harm."

"You're not asking me to sit down, you're asking me to sleep. I don't get tired, Carl."

Carl inhaled, feeling the corners of his mouth perk upwards. The silly resistence was actually incenting him to continue rather than just cause him to snarl in frustration and turn the wheelchair around to do something else. One thing was for sure: he, who so firmly believed he had done it all, had yet to teach someone to rest.

"Have you ever tried to sleep? Or just take a nap?"

Markus shook his head. "No."

"It'll be an experience, something new to add to your database. What do you say?"

The LED continued to flicker yellow as Markus processed the information and chose the course of action. Finally, Carl's stubborness beat through Markus's program and he sat down the couch. The expression on his face borderlined the skeptical, or perhaps it was actually closer to pure confusion, which was honestly endearing in a way Carl wouldn't have thought it would be. Likewise, he didn't remember feeling this accomplished with a victory in a long while - much less so that the 'victory' was actually just getting to make an adult sit down.

"Here." Carl reached over to pick up a pillow, patting it lightly for cushioning. Markus's eyes were glued on him, so attentive and cautious Carl could almost physically hear his computer mind working and clicking. "I don't need to teach you everything, you know quite well how people sleep, so you just need to adapt that information to yourself."

"People take their shoes off when they sleep."

"Markus, it's my couch, I would tapdance over it if I could. Please."

"People rest because their bodies need to rest, Carl."

"And if you do this, your battery will last that much longer."

"My battery is actually an aggregation of biocomponents that-"

"I thought you said you'd be less thorough on your replies."

Markus closed his lips and lowered his head slightly, as if embarrassed by the comment and taking it as a rebuke. He accepted the pillow into his hands and lowered his gaze to it.

"Sorry."

He placed the pillow against the couch's arm rest, looking to both his sides like he was remembering how Carl laid down in his own bed, and was adapting the actions, the pose, to himself, perhaps in some sort of preconstruction.

"The whole point of me being your caretaker is so I can be by your side," Markus still said, one final argument to hold on to like a lifeline. "If you feel unwell, if something serious happens, I can't be sleeping."

"It's one hour, Markus."

"You're not trying to trick me like last time so you can smoke heroin, are you?"

Carl scoffed loudly.

"No, Markus, I'm not tricking you. Besides, there's no more heroin in the house, is there?"

"Actually, there is." Carl blinked in surprise to that answer. "I hid it in case of an emergency."

Involuntarily, the pinch of want he honestly had barely been feeling lately now clamped at his mind like pincers. Carl twirled his fingers and waved his head to physically shake the need away.

"I will stay here in the living room. I'll get busy with something, so I'll be close in case I have a heart attack. Will that work?"

Markus didn't seem to take the joke too well, his fascinating face frowning.

"I will leave my sensors active, so they'll force me to wake up again if you need me."

"You do that."

After the longest time ever to get someone to lay down (well, Carl never had taken care of small children, so this was roughly the only time he faced a situation like this. Even situations with his drunk friends weren't like this), Markus finally turned his body and raised his legs over the couch, lowering his torso next and then resting his head against the pillow. 'Uncomfortable' wouldn't even begin to describe the stiffness of his entire body. The LED light signal on his temple was, yet again, shining in yellow.

"Now," Carl said, unable to keep from smiling from Markus's reaction. "Just one hour. Thanks for doing me this kindness."

"You're welcome, Carl."

Markus blinked a couple of times, working through whatever actions he needed to put himself into sleep mode. Realizing he wouldn't know exactly when that would be, Carl prepared to open his mouth to speak, but Markus spoke before him, turning his face to look at Carl.

"Don't leave the room, please."

"I won't. Rest well."

Markus rested his head back again and closed his eyes. The yellow LED finally changed back to blue. That was it. Carl couldn't really tell in another way if Markus had really went into sleep mode, and Carl was wary to touch him and immediately wake him up after so much effort to convince him to try to rest; the LED was still on, and looking at Markus's chest, he could see it moving slowly up and down. The calm of the scene was somewhat surreal, perhaps even slightly disturbing. Androids really were pieces of art. Who would bother to create a system or circuit or sensor to make them mimic human breathing? It was the first time Carl actually noticed it, at least with this much attention. It emulated it to perfection, another detail to add to their life-likedness. Now that he thought about it, it would have been rather disturbing indeed if Markus had simply turned off the light on his temple, a simple change that would making him look even more human, and stopped his faux breathing. It was a good thing Elijah had programmed him to have this feature, and to keep it even if in sleep mode.

Or perhaps it had been Markus who chose to keep it active, for Carl's sake?

It hadn't even been a month since Elijah had brought Markus to his home. The overall experience had been proving to be far from the dreadfulness Carl first branded it to be. Markus was thoughtful, caring, remarkably intelligent and curious. At times, it would get Carl thinking if everything was triggered by the programming, the code he had written into his computer brain; it necessarily needed to have some form of improvisation and adaptation. Carl didn't know anything about the intrincancies of AI, but it was common sense to understand that androids learn and adapt to their environmnent, which means their coding is adapted through improvisation. Which, to Carl, meant that Markus was indeed unique. No other android would react quite the same way. Their improvisation courses would be distinct, somehow, for some reason. Much like different human beings would behave distinctively in similar situations.

But perhaps that was reading a bit too much into it. Everyone always knew a time would come where there would be functioning androids made after human image, so lifelike that the similarities might cause confusion. Now that that era had fully grasped human life, lines of morality and ethics were constantly being pushed through and broken. It  _was_  easy to forget Markus wasn't a real person, but a machine. It was hard not to think there was something more behind Markus's reactions, behind his hesitations and questions; for instance, that very last request he had made before sleeping - why did he ask for Carl not to leave? It sounded like someone who really was concerned. And now, concerned for whom? Carl, out of his drug rehab and weakened health, or Markus himself, out of fear of doing something new and unknown on his own?

Sometimes, it was a bit too hard to forget Markus wasn't human and get lost in these questions. Could Elijah purposefully have made Markus with some change, some improvement, that mimicked human reactions even more? Or was Carl just particularly susceptible, being old and alone and now having this person to do him company? Once again, that thinking process was almost borderlining the paranoia.

Leaving the existencial questions for later, Carl rolled his wheelchair towards one of the bookshelves, deciding which book he would show Markus when he woke up. Trying to be as silent as possible (he didn't know which sensors Markus had left active, were they physical or hearing), he returned to his side after fetching his mug from the table, reading and sipping at his drink.

The hour passed by swiftly. There was a very soft, nearly inaudible sound that attracted his attention and he turned his face to see Markus open his eyes and turn his face almost immediately to the side. Seeing Carl there seemed to reassure him.

"Good afternoon, Markus. It's 5PM, 5:14PM to be precise, a sunny day, 77°," he said, smiling. Markus returned his smile as he sat back up.

"I don't talk like that."

"Well you should hear yourself, then," Carl jested. "So? Was it that dreadful?"

"No. No at all."

"How was it?"

"It was... honestly, it was just dark," Markus replied, the utter sincerity leaving somewhat of a trace of concern in his voice, like he was worried it would disappoint Carl, but wary to lie. "There was nothing. I just closed my eyes and when I opened them, you were here again."

Carl nodded. "That's the most awful thing, when our brain can't get past the very first stage of sleep. It's like we're never fully resting."

Markus blinked, taking Carl's phrase as displeasure. "Carl, I told you, I don't need sleep."

"Eventually, you'll get the hang of it."

"Why does it bother you? I really am not tired."

"I don't feel comfortable knowing you're awake twenty four hours per day. I just don't want you to be here bored without knowing what to do."

"I can read," Markus replied, pointing at the book on Carl's lap. "I can ask you to clarify any doubts I may have when you wake up."

Carl sighed. That  _was_  indeed a benefit he should have given Markus.

"Well, at least you've learned something new today. It wasn't a complete loss."

"You're disappointed. I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"You don't have to apologize, Markus," Carl told him at once. He picked the book from his lap and handed it to Markus. "I think this book may interest you."

"Do you want me to read it outloud?"

"If you want to."

Markus looked down at the page Carl had stopped in. Before doing anything else, he raised his head again.

"If I do sleep, I'll only do it in the armchairs in your bedroom, so I will reactivate if you need me. I don't think anywhere else would be reasonable."

Carl smiled to him.

"See? You're already learning."

"But I would truly prefer to be there reading instead. If that's alright with you."

The smile was more earnest now. Paranoia or not, bewilderment caused from old age or not, Carl really had to treat Markus as he would another living being. He reacted and made decisions, had a personality. One that was being build, yes, but that - amongst lines of code and parts made of plastic and metal - was there.

"Of course."

.

to be continued

.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to move a scene from this chapter to the next, so possibly this will have 6 chapters rather than 5. Let's see.
> 
> Hope you liked it, thanks for reading!


	4. Friend

After a handful of months, Carl started seeing Elijah's face unexpectadly broadcasting on almost every newschannel he changed the tv into. Surprised with what was repeated over and over, he asked Markus to fetch his tablet and make a videochat to the personal number he had on the contacts' list. After a couple of attempts, the face of a beautiful young woman appeared on the screen.

"Good morning, Mr Manfred," Elijah's android and first masterpiece, Chloe, greeted him. "Elijah is just finishing his breakfast. Please, wait just a minute. I will inform him you are calling."

"Thank you, dear."

The girl smiled and excused herself. Markus started lifting the breakfast's dishes off the table. Some minutes later, the image on the tablet's screen shacked as it was picked up from where it was standing and Elijah's face appeared.

"Hello, Carl. It's good to see you."

"Elijah," Carl greeted him. "I've seen the news."

"Yes, I imagined that would be the reason for you to call me." Elijah sat down and laid his tablet over a teatable, readjusting the camera angle before finally resting his back against the couch. "Needless to say, I haven't been particularly interested in picking up phonecalls or chatting with the hundreds of people that have been asking for interviews and whatnot. I'm not seeing that number decrease in the next few weeks."

"Well, I'm happy to see I'm an exception."

Elijah snorted, smiling. Carl took a moment accessing his friend's posture and expression, trying to see if the immediate reaction of him resigning CyberLife's position as CEO appeared to be positive or not. From simple visual inspection, Carl couldn't detect anything much at all, neither positive or negative. Elijah just seemed like a regular person who had woken up a bit earlier than anticipated.

"So," if he couldn't figure it out just by looking, Carl might as well ask directly, "what are your future plans now, Elijah?"

"Honestly, I'm thinking of retiring. I think I've had enough of corporative businesses."

"You've certainly earned a bit of vacation for yourself," Carl agreed. Their realms of business were distinct, but in his own fashion, Carl had experienced how institutions often lost the sight of the meaning of art over the meaning of money. After all, both Elijah and Carl were artists of their respective crafts (yes, Carl was still an artist. He had accepted and reminded himself of that fact, whether or not he returned to painting).

"CyberLife will thrive without me in it," Elijah said. "The business is just too extensive and the infrastructures just too well designed. Whatever their future will be, I just don't want to be part of it."

"Money over art," Carl expressed his thoughts, and Elijah hummed in agreement.

"Well, it is what it is." Elijah then smiled a bit more brightly. Carl sensed the change of subject even before the young man started to speak. "And what about you? It's nice to see you calling me for a change, and actually engaging in a conversation without complaining, old friend. How have you been doing with your android?"

Carl scoffed at Elijah's not-so-humble and not-so-hidden note of self boasting.

"We're been getting along rather well. He's been rather successful in detox-ing me."

"I'm glad you're fighting it through, Carl. You should remember how much of an inspiration and example you are, next time you start sinking back into your depression."

Carl snorted. Well, Markus was certainly an important help in Carl's recovery, not just from drugs but from himself, but let's not push it. Carl still hadn't been turned into an example of self-esteem and self-worth.

Markus returned to the living room as if on cue.

"He really has been extremely kind to me," Carl was speaking to Elijah, but looking at Markus and actually addressing the words to him. Markus knew and smiled. "If it weren't for your stubborness, I wouldn't have really bothered."

"I didn't do anything special," Markus replied. "I just tried to help."

"The simplest things really are the most important ones," Carl pressed. "No need for grand goals to surpass current problems."

Markus smiled again. "Something like that."

Carl returned his attention to Elijah, who in turn had been listening to the off-screen exchange between him and Markus. His gaze was particularly attentive and sharp.

"Have you been enjoying the company, Carl?"

"I have."

"Didn't I say that an android who wouldn't complain would be perfect to put up with your bad humor?"

Carl smiled again, but picked up on Elijah's particular emphasis. The two of them exchanged a mutual look.

"Markus does have an unique personality."

"His programming is rather unique indeed. He's an extremely fast learner, and his technology's at its prime. There would be no point offering you anything else."

Carl lifted his head slightly, the curve of the smile still on his lips and mirroring Elijah's own on the screen. They exchanged an entire conversation inside those two phrases. All facts considered, Carl should be the one on the losing end of the argument; Elijah had been the one who created Markus. He would know everything Markus was, his core origin, his blank state canvas. Elijah should be the one who knew Markus better than anyone else.

Carl, however, was the one who actually saw everything Markus was becoming. His blank state canvas had infinite possibilities, and was slowly adding a new color each day. Colors Elijah didn't know.

"You said before that I'm such an inspiration and example. I wouldn't really have done anything were it not for Markus's help."

"I'm glad."

"It was good talking with you, Elijah. I'm glad you seem to be well after making such a big change in your life."

"Thank you for the concern, Carl. Like you said, I guess I'll enjoy a much deserved vacation."

The call ended shortly afterwards.

Carl breathed in and out, pushing his wheelchair away from the table and further into the living room. CyberLife's future didn't bother Carl in the slightlest, and even though it was an extremely recent news, Elijah did seem satisfied with his decision to abandon his post and the entrepise he quite literally built from the ground. It was his own decision.

He enjoyed how both of them always had such different views of a variety of subjects, and how their points often still found a common ground. It made most conversations interesting. It also left an irking sense of irritation at times. Carl repeated the young man's words in his mind, and recalled how in other moments, Carl often questioned himself the extent of Elijah's intelect behind Markus's personality. What exactly  _had_  been designed by Elijah with specifically planned directions?

He looked up as Markus passed by him and picked up the books they had been piling up on a table for the past days, returning them to their places on the shelves. They would likely still pick them up later that day, but it was a pattern of behaviour Carl had noted. While he himself had a bit of an organized-chaos type of personality when it came to his personal belongings - and, by extent, his house - Markus was different. Carl never left things scattered just to give Markus the work of properly cleaning up and organizing after him. It was just how he was, and overall, when confronted with the confusion of books, or papers, sketches, canvases and ink bottles back in the day, or whatever other shenanigans Carl might leave scattered about, he actually found it gave the ambience of a house that was lived. If everything was impeccably arranged or stored, it just felt a bit too neat, unnatural, mechanical.

Markus was a lot more organized. He never left a pile of anything out of place for more than a day, except the books they might be reading. Looking at his house now, Carl saw how this new organization felt just as familiar, and as welcoming, as his previous chaos had felt.

"I know we haven't finished all of them, but as we already finished discussing Ian Kershaw's ' _To Hell and Back',_  I just wanted to organize them," Markus said as if he knew just what Carl had been thinking. "It's a bit counter-productive, isn't it."

"It's alright," Carl replied him. "I don't really feel like reading much today anyway."

"We could go outside," Markus suggested. "It would be nice for a change. The weather's quite nice today."

Not an unpleasant idea. It actually brought back something to his mind.

"I've been wanting to ask you this for a while," Carl started, pushing his wheelchair closer. "Would you like to buy some clothes?"

"I have several clothes changes," Markus replied. "There's no need for you to spend the money."

"Money is one thing I don't mind spending, and as for clothes change, yes you have, but they're all those sparkly things," Carl retorted, waving vaguely to the shining light markers, particularly the bright blue arm band. Markus looked down, confused.

"That's one way of describing them."

Markus didn't wear his coat inside the house, so those glaring white 'ANDROID' letters weren't constantly screaming at Carl's direction, but everything else gleamed and flickered just as effectively.

"Would you like to buy some normal ones?"

"You know androids aren't authorized to go outside without proper tags," Markus reminded him. Carl waved his hand emphatically.

"Of course. And that very concept is just too peculiarly reminiscent of our human condition and our inevitability to repeat history."

"How so?"

"What have we been reading lately?"

"World War II," he replied, taking one second to nod, finding Carl's point. "But it's not the same."

"No?"

"I mean, I do see where you find the similarity, but any arm band will always inevitably have a reminiscence to WWII regardless of their actual purpose. The weight of that historical marker is just too much."

"And is it not always the same purpose? Are you not branded? Why do you need five or six light markers to tell everyone you're an android? Why one with such a blatant historical counterpart? Two markers, actually," he added. Markus looked down again.

"The triangle? Are you perhaps not reading a bit too much into it, Carl?"

"Those are just small details, and then you start to think of everything else. The segregation, the growing bans..."

Carl waved his head before Markus could argument further.

"It always starts with like this. Humanity has done this not once, or twice, or thrice in the past century. No. WWII was not an isolated and single period where people were oppressed, and the fact it happened almost one hundred years ago doesn't mean that mentality is overcome, at all. If we start to look at cases in the past century worldwide, you'll see how it's all but extinguished, and how it always starts with these apparently small details."

Markus fell silent for a moment. The blue LED light was replaced by yellow for a second.

"I do see your point. I hadn't thought about it that way before. But it feels different, wouldn't you say?"

"Why? Because you're an android?"

"Perhaps."

"It's a repetition regardless. Do you know what the blue triangle represented for the Nazis?"

"Emmigrants and foreign forced workers."

"Humankind needs a group under their feet, and I wouldn't particularly like to be alive at the time to see it happen again."

"This started with a conversation about clothes," Markus recalled. "We've ended up on historical parallels rather fast. Rest assured, Carl, I know you don't see me as something to oppress."

Carl was prepared to speak when he saw the yellow LED shine on Markus's temple again, for a few seconds longer this time.

"I don't need much more clothes. But I would like to try something new. I have never seen myself without these clothes."

Carl smiled, satisfied. Not that Markus had granted him his request, but because he actually processed the question and made a choice; even if small and apparently insignificant, even if made by proxy after Carl's suggestion.

Elijah's words returned; purposefully clear, subtly emphasing the difference between Carl's humanizing view and Markus's android reality. What was programming, and what was something else? Bottom line, Carl thought as Markus helped him into a thin coat and pushed his wheelchair outside, it all came down to just different interpretations. What does it matter if it started by programming? Did it make it less real?

"I'd like to take the bus, Markus," he said as Markus put on his own jacket, 'ANDROID' letters flashing.

"Alright."

Carl had a reason for the choice. Markus picked it up just as soon as they reached the bus station.

"You know I have to go to the android compartiment."

"That's the stupidest ban I've ever seen. I'm old. I'm disabled. Didn't you say the whole point is for you be around in case I fall dead?"

"I didn't say it like that."

"If they get too annoying I'll tell them to kiss my ass."

"May I ask you something, Carl?"

"What?"

"Have you known Mr Kamski for a long time?" Markus asked. Carl turned his neck around, displeased with Markus trying to change the subject.

"You're not going to talk me out of having you sit with me."

"That's not my point. I just noticed how something he said seemed to annoy you."

"I'm not annoyed."

"I just feel there's something bothering you."

"What's bothering me is how everything's starting to feel like an objectification."

"The whole purpose of androids' existence is to help humans, Carl. Techincally speaking..."

"Technically speaking, you've been helping me, you put up with me, yes, but it's just not that." Well, it  _should_  be. It was supposed to be. Markus was offered to him to look after Carl. That had been the whole point. But was he wrong in thinking it was different? In feeling there was more to it? Markus wasn't just an obedient machine.

"I told you, I know you don't see me as an object. But you do know I  _am_  an android. People aren't saying anything wrong."

Carl sighed outloud. He _was_  starting to feel annoyed now.

"I'm not putting that up to question, Markus."

"Mr Kamski knows that too. I believe he was just trying to point it out so you wouldn't forget."

" _'So I wouldn't forget'_?" Carl repeated. "How do you feel when we talk about your thoughts on the books you read? Or when we discuss the news?"

Carl knew without looking that Markus's processing light changed for a second.

"I like talking with you, Carl. I really like your company."

That was the real thing that mattered. Nevermind if it started with programming, if perhaps it was all programming; it didn't  _feel_  like it.

"So do I. So there's no way you'll be stopped from sitting by my side on a bus just because someone says you're not supposed to."

One of the benefits of old age was persistency. And hell if Carl wasn't persistent. The middle aged bus driver tried to insist too, but Markus sat beside Carl.

.

to be continued

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter turned out a bit longer than I wanted (this fic is getting longer than I planned too, so I just hope it's keeping up the interest). Also, I couldn't help myself but insert a little of WWII parallel.
> 
> Listened to a bunch of Mozart for this one, namely metal and rock covers.
> 
> Thanks for reading, please point out mistakes and feedback is appreciated!


	5. Child

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, it's been a while. I struggled a lot with this chapter, which helped me getting into a whole hiatus that was only recently broken thanks to nightmares.
> 
> The main scene of this chapter had already been planned out, but thanks to Minecraft Guardiansaiyan for the wonderful suggestion! I hope you like the little cameo!
> 
> The previous chapters all took place in 2028, so this now makes a little jump into 2032. 4 years already.

 

There were several children playing in the park, their chirps and screeches actually making a not too unpleasant background rumble. It fitted perfectly with the landscape; its absence would steal away a precious hue of the day. Refuged amidst a rim of trees, close to the river and with a long pedestrian road with a view to the blue waters, the park was really a lovely place to go for a walk, and to go with your children.

"Are you feeling better, Carl?"

Carl blinked, moving his eyes away from the riverscape and the bridge, focusing on the pavement instead.

"Yes."

"I think you shouldn't worry about Leo."

There was no need to even pretend Markus was wrong. Humans are painfully easy to read.

Carl had nothing against children; it simply had never been his calling. He hadn't for a second considered ignoring Leo's paternity even if his conception had never been planned. But he never made an effort to be part of his life for a series of reasons... perhaps all the wrong ones. It was pointless to think about it now.

Perhaps it wasn't 'pointless' at all. 'Immature', most likely. Just like the whole idea to go out for an unusual morning stroll to figuratively and literally run from his responsabilities and thoughts, a childish attempt to evade the stress the day would bring. All because of his own flaws as a person and as a father. Of course such behaviors would be quite easily identified by Markus, and their cause immediately pinpointed.

Leo had called yesterday, inviting him for lunch. Carl had had the decency to invite him over to his house instead of forcing Leo to find some restaurant, but he also changed it for a dinner instead - quite purposefully as to give it a clear length timespan, something that would last just a couple of hours and naturally reach the end without making it awkward or forcing Carl to further discomfort to figure out what to do or say. At least by scheduling a dinner, he could understandably say he was tired, and Leo would leave. The prospect of him sleeping over was one he didn't even want to think much about.

Such words to think about his own son.

During the past month, Carl and Leo had finally started to attempt to form a relationship, at least one that would have some resemblance to a father-son. The fact that Leo had been the one to step up first and showed his interest and welcome such a bond was already quite the proof of Carl's otherwise inability as a person. And then, as they finally started to talk, Carl realized the painfully obvious: he had, quite literally, just met a stranger. The realization that he honestly did not know his son, his only son, hitted him like a wall of bricks.

He wasn't a social inadequate, but his outgoing days were long gone. The most recent years, his accident and his downward spiral to depression had worked their way into Carl's bones. Markus had done what Carl would have thought impossible, but he could not erase what was now etched into Carl - lack of interest to meet new people, dislike to be outside, impatience to be surrounded by people. All enhanced a notch by old age. The fact that Leo, his  _son_ , fell into the criterias of what Carl wanted to avoid was a slap of reality of his own mistakes.

Markus could interpret some of Carl's reactions and fears, but Carl himself wasn't sure if Markus would be able to understand the amount of layers behind them.

"Do you think... what do you think my main concern is, regarding Leo?"

"It's not a simple matter, I understand that. You fear rejection, and you fear  _you_  will reject him. You paint yourself in a worse color than reality, Carl."

Carl shook his head. "I don't know my own son, Markus. What does that say of me?"

"I don't know," Markus admitted. "It means you made... choices in the past. But you are able to change, aren't you?"

"It feels forced. Talking to him, acting like we know each other... we don't."

"You don't have to act like that. You  _don't_  know him. But that's not a permanent thing."

"It's like we're pushing it and forcing it and that just shows the problem," Carl continued. He sighed heavily as Markus pushed the wheelchair through the park and he glanced at the colorful clothes the children wore. "It should be spontaneous and natural and it's not like that."

"It will turn effortless and natural in time if you let it. But you need to try. Otherwise, you won't change what happened before. You're the only one who can decide who you want to be, aren't you? Besides, think about it. We're back at how the two of us first met. Do I need to give you a better example than me?"

Markus did have that ability to sound like the voice of reason no matter what. But he did strike a nerve there.

"You're different, Markus."

"How so?"

One of the children playing at the park had been squealing and petting a dog as it fetched a yellow ball back and forth. The ball flew towards Carl and Markus's direction, bouncing in archs until it fell still on the ground. The immediate reaction was the pounding thunder of the dog's sprinting paws and a second later, Carl had a panting and drooling St Bernard hopping until it stopped in front of them.

The sheer bulk size of the dog - no, not the actual size, but the built of it - was a bit intimidating. Carl could see it was practically still a cub, but it  _was_  a St Bernard. Their bulk was just unavoidable. The dog ignored the ball it had been playing with and instead wiggled its duster-like tail as it stared at both of them, taking an apparent particular interest in Markus.

"Sumo!" the dog's owner, a lively young boy who would never be able to hold a leash of a St Bernard alone, came sprinting after it and picked up the yellow ball the dog had forgotten. "It's here, Sumo!"

The dog turned its head around and barked a reply to the boy, tongue wiggling out of its mouth in excitement and tiredness alike, and then turning its head back again at them. Carl had to chuckle at the dog's friendliness, urging them to play.

"He wants to play with you too," the boy acted as translator. He reached the yellow ball up to Markus. "You can just throw it and he'll bring it right back!"

"Alright then, Sumo," Markus replied with a smile. The boy placed the ball into his hand and he threw it gently. The dog immediately jumped back up and spinned around, darting after the toy and bringing it back in about a handful of seconds, much to the enjoyment of the boy.

"That's it! Good boy!" the boy applauded. "He's awesome at it!"

As if he understood just what his owner had said and wanted to prove his skill further, the dog dropped the ball and sat in waiting. Markus chuckled louder this time and crouched to pick up the ball, repeating the previous action. When the dog returned, he dropped the ball once again and now bumped his impressive head against Markus's hand, almost making him lose balance in a clumsy but clear request.

"Sumo likes you!" the young boy squealed.

"I see that," Markus replied, petting the dog's head, who in turn started to immediately bounce his tail in contentment. "Sumo must be a great friend."

"He is!" the boy replied, spreading his arms and clumsily hugging the dog. His arms couldn't even fully embrace the dog's furry neck. "He's so huggie-huggie!"

Markus kept smiling at the boy. Carl watched both of them silently, unable to mask his own smile. Markus had yet to interact with animals, as far as Carl remembered. Or children, for that matter. It was impressive how natural and spontaneous he made it look.

"Cole!" A man's voice sounded clear in the park, and soon a middle-aged man approached them, no doubt the young boy's father. Carl found his face slightly familiar, but he wouldn't be able to remember where he'd seen him.

"Dad, Sumo's getting really good at fetching!" the boy reported happily, giving a particularly fondly round of petting before releasing the dog.

"Sorry, sir, he's quite the energetic type," the man apologized to Carl. Sumo barked as if on cue, demanding attention. He added awkwardly. "Yes, you too, Sumo."

"There's no need to apologize at at all," Carl replied, feeling the faint smile still pulling the corners of his mouth. "Besides, they seem to be getting along quite well."

"Do you want to do it again?" the boy Cole asked Markus.

"One more time, then."

The two of them played with Sumo one more time before the father called his son.

"Come on, Cole, let's leave the gentleman alone now."

"Awww..." the boy complained.

"Come on..."

"Sumo doesn't want to go either..."

"Do as your father says," Markus told the boy with a smile, petting the dog's massive head once more. "Thank you for letting me play with Sumo, Cole."

"Oh, it was no problem at all!"

"You have a very friendly dog," Markus said to the father. Carl noted how the man seemed startled for a moment for some reason before the second passed as if nothing had happened.

"Say goodbye," the father told his son, who waved at them and then called Sumo to play again. As the child and dog were already focused in another thing, the man gave Carl a short acknowledgement nod before heading after them. Carl still saw how the dog turned his head in their direction as he held the ball in his mouth, but Cole called him and comically tried to physically redirect the dog's attention somewhere else.

"His face is familiar," Carl said casually as father, son and dog kept walking away.

"His name is Lieutenant Hank Anderson. He's frequently mentioned in Red Ice cases, and you saw him often on newschannels and magazines when he was promoted as Detroit's youngest lieutenant in history," Markus explained, quickly assessing both his computer memory and online articles.

"Ah. I see." Carl did remember something now that Markus mentioned, but otherwise he would never have been able to pinpoint the face to a name or to his profession. Carl looked at Markus as he stood up straight again, the smile still clear in his lips. "You liked the dog."

"He's adorable," Markus replied in earnest. "Have you ever had pets before, Carl?"

"Not really."

"I never saw any type of allergies in your medical record."

"I just never bothered to have pets," Carl casually replied. He realized what his next words would be, but he decided to voice them regardless. Perhaps it would help bang the message deeper into his skull. "I'm too selfish to care for other people other than me."

"Carl..." Markus sighed not too covertly. "What if you try to stop thinking about it so much? You are only stressing yourself."

"I can't help it, Markus. I'm not feeling this way because I want to. It's not that simple."

"The only simple thing about it is letting it happen. Before, you said this situation is different than how you first reacted to me. I know Leo is your son, and that you don't know him as well as you should. So, you just need to think you will. You just need time."

The biggest difference was that Carl felt comfortable with Markus. He didn't feel that way with Leo. Markus understood Carl, and Leo was a teenager whom had no patience.

So maybe it really was all just selfishness. After all, Markus was designed to understand him. Leo was not designed to be anything other than himself.

That was not fair. Nor for Leo, nor for Markus.

"Does your program tell you how to play with dogs?" he asked, wanting to smother that creeping little voice in his head.

"It tells me how to behave with living things."

"So you don't have a specific course of action."

"No. I've explained it to you before, as has Mr Kamski told you one time. My programming allows me to select a course of action based on several different options."

"Sometimes I wish you wouldn't have such a memory, Markus," Carl sighed. But that wasn't the point he was seeking. "The bottom line is, no one told you how to reply to that boy, or to smile at the dog, or talk to that man."

"Not exactly, no."

The boy's father hadn't replied to Markus before because Markus's actions were supposed to be just pre-programmed codes, but they weren't. Markus had made them.

"I see something in you, Markus, that I don't see in anyone else," rather than keep his thoughts to himself, he decided to voice them as Markus started to guide him outside the park. "I don't want to be selfish and think that the reason I'm avoiding my son is because I just want him to do as he's told. Human beings are not meant to fit in whatever role someone decides they should fit. I have to accept him as he is rather than expect him to be what I want him to be. Specially when I had so little presence in his life until now. And I don't want to think I'm selfish for comparing you to him."

"I didn't mean it to sound like that, Carl. I can't be compared to..."

"Yes, you can," Carl cutted. "You can be compared because I don't want to think I'm doing that to you, either. Liking you just because you fit some role someone decides you should fit."

"I don't understand, Carl."

"I didn't feel comfortable with you before, and in time, I've grown to not only appreciate your company, but you as a person. I don't want to think it's because you are something helpful, but because you're just growing to become you."

Markus didn't reply. They walked in almost complete silence in the entire time it took them to return home, where Markus just quickly said he'd attend to lunch preparations.

Carl stayed by the living room, where it took him roughly five minutes before realizing being alone wasn't doing anything to help him relax. Carl promptly closed the book he had picked up and pushed his wheelchair to the kitchen. Markus was preparing braised vegetables and had already something cooking at the oven. The air in the kitchen had a delicious scent riddled into it.

"Sorry, Carl, I didn't hear you call me," Markus said as soon as he noted Carl's presence.

"I didn't."

"Do you need something?"

"Nothing. I just want to see you cook."

.

The dinner went smoothly, without the conversation feeling too awkward. Leo picked up most subjects, and it easily ran into a pleasant dialogue. He praised the food, and they had enough time to barely scratch the subject of art.

For the next few weeks, they arranged for one dinner per week, eventually changing it to a lunch.

It was a seemless, natural and effortless evolution. Leo and Carl had little in common, and the initial forced interactions gained new roots set on actual familiarity.

On one of the visits, Carl took Leo to his studio. Markus excused himself to prepare them beverages as Carl showcased his reborned and revamped art supplies and half-done canvases.

"This is badass, Dad. Whoa," Leo said, eyes wide glued to the mechanical support that Carl recently bought. "This takes you to a whole new level, artistically and literally."

"It's pretty helpful. One of the benefits of having some money is that I can make my old age a bit more comfortable."

"Comfortable and stylish," Leo added with a awed smile. "And your painting's pretty cool. Are you gonna sell it?"

"It's not finished yet."

"Oh. Looks finished to me. I think it looks nice as it is."

Carl nodded, but added nonetheless: "Artists are often never satisfied with their works."

"I can see that. I don't know much about art, Dad."

"You don't need to understand much. That's the beauty of it. You just need to look at at it and feel whatever it resonates in you."

Leo nodded, an uncertain look still on his face.

"Then, without all the technicalities and stuff, I guess it looks nice. I like the colors."

Carl chuckled. Well, it was an honest opinion at least. Carl looked at the canvas as he heard the clicking of the tray being laid on the table behind them.

"What about you, Markus?"

Markus lift his head, straighting back up.

"Yes, Carl?"

"What do you think?"

Markus took a moment to process Carl's question, eyes then moving towards the paiting.

"Well, it's supposed to be 'feeling' art, right?" Leo pointed out, smiling. "He can only process the tecnicals."

Carl took note of Leo's comment, but turned his wheelchair around and remained focused on Markus as the LED flickered between yellow and blue. He caught just a single trace of red that quickly vanished under the blink of an eye.

"Leo's right, Carl. I'm not sure I know what I can answer."

"Just tell me what you think."

"Your art has a very clear and unique style. It's your unique inprint. I would never mistake it for anyone else's."

Carl waited to see if Markus would add something else, as his LED was still flickering yellow.

"Androids can't make art, can they?" Leo said instead. "I mean, how would that work? Markus, do you think you can make art?"

It was a normal question, but Carl felt an irking in his skin for some reason. The tone was a bit too commanding to his ears, as if Markus was just a dumb assistant.

"I don't know, Leo," Markus answered. "I don't think so."

"How does that work?" Leo insisted. "What's your ML processor version?"

"Elijah Kamski developped an upgraded format for my machine learning workflow," Markus replied. "It has..."

"Oh, yeah, you're a prototype, aren't you? You're custom built for my Dad?"

"Yes."

Leo whistled in approval. "That's something else. Stylish! I don't think anyone else has ever had an android made for them exclusively, Dad."

Carl didn't get to reply anything before an extended exchange between the two put him completely at a loss to whatever they were saying. Leo clearly had some understanding about computer programming, and seemed to be increasingly more approvant of whatever information Markus gave him.

"He's pretty cool," Leo eventually said to Carl. "It's amazing what people can do with computers and AI, isn't it? I mean, the billions of operations that go around his head, the whole grid of options and the system that lets it pick the best course."

"Like a human being," Carl said.

Markus turned to him. Leo chuckled.

"Yeah, almost." Leo turned to the painting. "I like this painting because I just do. He still can only recognize a pattern of brush strokes. But hey, who knows, right? They keep getting better everytime."

.

to be continued

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sumo likes RK prototypes.
> 
> Chapter's title is because both Markus and Leo are seen by Carl under a sort of 'child light': Leo because, even though he's 22 and not a teenager anymore, is still quite young and their dynamics are still being formed, with all the 'childish' gleam and flair that that beginning may have (like with the reaction to the studio and whatnot). Markus is under this light because Carl still sees how he's learning and developing his personality much like a child would. They're living together for 4 years, so you can see this as a literal development from white plank to something else.
> 
> I know I neglected Leo and Carl's interaction considerably, and it's actually a field that would quite interesting to explore if I felt I had the ability and time to do so. Right now, I can use the excuse that this fic focuses more on Markus than Leo, but it is kinda of an excuse. Maybe someday, in another fic.
> 
> I hope you'll like the wrap up of the story next chapter. Thanks for reading and sorry for the wait.


	6. Son

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've come down to it. Final chapter. (after too many months ahem)
> 
> This takes place roughly around 2033, one year after the previous chapter.
> 
> It's long, but I hope you like it, and I hope some of the evolution Carl underwent thanks to Markus is as noticeable as Markus's own is.
> 
> warnings: drug use, violence

 

Amongst some of his recently finished paintings and half done projects, Carl dug up a brand new sketchbook from the stacks of new material. He opened the large sketchbook and picked a couple of graphite pencils and upon his request, Markus posed for him for the first time.

"Only befitting, after you insisted so much."

"I never insisted on anything," Markus replied, feigning offence.

Carl chuckled. "I may not have your memory, but I recall very clearly how much you told me to restart painting. You didn't think I'd let you off the hook there, did you?"

"Fair enough," Markus sighed, and sat exactly as Carl asked him to, looking honestly interested and not bored in the slightest even after the several times Carl asked him to turn for a different angle as the lines layered up in the page.

The first subject studies worthy of that name in years were, as expected, frustratingly lacking. He had kept it simple and familiar, focused on Markus's face and features. Elijah had made Markus beautiful in every sense of the word, probably even having in mind the artistic inspiration he could bring to Carl. But the sketches were simply lacking. The forms and shapes were engarved in his mind and had etched themselves into his muscle memory, but they lacked the appropriate coherence of the practice he had lost in the past years. None of his four sketches, either simpler or more detailed portrait studies, had a satisfying result. He would never be able to properly convey him into a canvas.

"I like this one," Markus told him after Carl groaned in frustration and threw paper and pencil to the side, giving up on the day's task.

"It's terrible. I can't find the anatomic balance anymore."

"Of course you can. Your last painting was human form as well, and it was very accurate."

"Painting is not just about what you see, but how you interpret it," Carl rambled, turning and pushing his wheelchair to the side. "When I used to sketch a subject, I always wanted to transfer the subject first to paper, then interpret it how I understood it in a canvas. But I can't even draw your face correctly, let alone do something more."

"We'll do more tomorrow."

"I don't want to ruin you more than I have," Carl complained at the sketches.

"You've put me through a drawing session, now I want a painting of me. I won't let you off the hook either."

Carl chuckled. "Can you prepare me something to eat? All this effort has left me starved."

Some minutes after Markus left Carl in the living room and went to the kitchen, the front door clicked open and closed. Carl heard the familiar female voice of the alarm system, even if the words were unclear. Still, it wasn't hard to guess who it would be.

Leo came by the double doors. He looked fresh out of bed, hair slightly disheveled and drowsy eyes, even if it was way past 3PM.

"Hello, Leo."

"Hey, Dad. How are you?"

"Frustrated," he replied. Leo frowned, but Carl added: "But alright. You look like you need some sleep. Or little less sleep."

"Yeah, I kinda overslept..." His smile was pure reaction, and he rubbed his arm as if in defence. "I would've kept sleeping I think, but my pals woke me up and that's kinda why I'm here..."

Markus returned to the living room with a tray and Carl's requested snack.

"Hello, Leo," Markus greeted him. "Do you want something to eat?"

Leo made a simple nod of acknowledgement, clearly too eager to get whatever he wanted out of the way.

"Remember I told you about my pals, my friends from back in my college?" he started, fingers twitching not too covertly. He rushed the words out, looking everywhere but Carl. "We've been talking and we've come up with a project, and we were planning stuff and all, trying to work it out, but we really... we really can't get the funds to start it."

Carl nodded. "What was it, again?"

"It sucks to just come like this and... but I kinda thought, well, you're the only person out of the three of us and their families who could probably help us out," Leo hadn't finished and stumbled over his words. He rubbed his nape uncomfortably. "I've been working, as I told you, but it's not like I can earn much with the whole..."

"Of course I can help you. How much do you need?" Carl summed it up. Leo was clearly too anxious about the subject.

"Really?" Leo turned his eyes to Carl's in surprise and his face brightened up. "Thanks, Dad!"

Markus had returned to the kitchen to make an extra snack for Leo, but he was too itching to stay, and after thanking Carl again and hugging him, he left with the money Markus fetched from Carl's safe without eating anything. The benefits of being old in a modern world was that he still liked to have some physical money with him.

After the fact, Carl felt a stupid sense of pride over the simplicity of the moment that just happened. His own lack of hesitation over his son's request and over Leo's gained confidence to bring it up in the first place were facts so simple, so structural in any family that most just took them for granted, but Carl had had to earn them through mutual effort. It was something worth being proud on, even at his age. Specially at his age.

Leo visited him again only once over the next two weeks, staying for dinner and watching the newschannel with Carl. He didn't talk much about the project, only that they had already been able to launch the first stage of it. He was more interested in the news, and that set pretty much the whole topic of conversation instead.

"This will only keep up," he said, pushing Carl's attention to the television. A major company had just undergone a massive dismissal over more productive and money-saving alternative, and the expected contestation was causing quite a bit of an uproar. "Too many people are getting fired. Where do those companies owners' shitbrains think they'll get money from, if people have no jobs and no money to afford the stuff they want to sell?"

"Money's coming from somewhere, if people still can afford all their luxuries," Carl noted.

"Luxuries?  _Living_  shouldn't be a luxury, Dad, and that's what's gonna happen if this keeps up."

"What I mean is, everyone is doing such a fuss over the replacing of human employers for androids, but then they don't cut on the expenses of buying one for themselves." Carl waited for the unemployed woman on the screen to finish her furious speech before continuing. "People have every right to be angry. It's their lives that are impacted by this. But the hypocracy kills it for me."

"Yeah, but it's not those people who are getting androids for themselves."

"Androids keep having record sales, don't they? The trend is keeping up even with the increasing rate of unemployment. So something doesn't make sense here."

"That's because some people are stupid," Leo ended up saying, not the most brilliant of arguments.

"Androids do provide a lot of help and support for the people to try to set their lives straight again," Markus commented, standing a bit apart from them.

"I don't think your input is too relevant here, Markus," Leo said rather sharply.

Carl looked at his son, a bit uncomfortable with the tone, before turning to Markus.

"Actually, I do think your opinion is relevant, Markus. What do you think of this situation?"

"Leo's right," Markus started, eyes fixed on the television and the following piece of news, also focusing on unemployment rates and a rather violent riot that had occured on the frontsteps of a company. Leo didn't really acknowledge the support. "It doesn't make commercial sense to contribute heavily to unemployment when that means you're taking purchasing power away from your potencial customers, even if the impact seems minor at first. It's also true that android manufacturing and selling rates keep rising exponentially, but they are not exactly a luxury but an investment when you consider all the benefits."

Carl scoffed. "It's not like people couldn't like without androids before," he said dryly.

"You do live with me for years now, Carl," Markus called him out immediately. Carl had to chuckle and bow his head.

"Seems I'm the hypocrit after all, huh."

"I do think some balance needs to be met," Markus continued. "People's work can't be permanently replaced by machines, otherwise they won't have a source of income, just like Leo said. Androids were meant to help humans live more comfortably, not to replace them."

"You're all doing a terrific job then, aren't you?" Leo let out, voice riddled with irony towards the newschannel.

The outcome of the dinner wasn't as pleasant as Carl would have hoped it would be. Leo left as if angry with something past the news and the unsettlement they seemed to cause in him.

Just some days later, Leo returned. They were playing piano when he came rushing through the living room. His anger was gone and was now replaced by the same embarrassed and anxiety and he had before, perhaps enhanced by the fact he was clearly interrupting something. He apologized to Carl and started to justify again the request for more money. Carl noted his body language without even thinking, how he'd rub his arms and nape as he searched for something to hold as if to relax himself, but thought no further on it.

"Markus, can you get it, please?"

"Of course," he replied, standing up from the seat.

"Actually, I'm kinda in a hurry, so maybe I'll just go with him and get it, okay, Dad? Thanks a bunch!"

Both of them went upstairs after Leo let go of the random book he had picked while he talked. Carl could see them from the living room as they crossed over to Carl's bedroom. Markus stopped at the door and asked Leo to wait outside. He couldn't hear what Leo's reply was, but he stepped inside regardless.

Alone in the living room, Carl frowned. It wasn't that he felt suspicious of Leo, but Carl was a private person who enjoyed sharing if he was the one to name the terms. The clear lack of compliance with Markus's simple request left him uncomfortable.

They came outside some minutes later. Leo's steps were wide and certain, and made Carl feel like he wouldn't even return to the living room.

"Is everything alright, Leo?" he asked.

Leo turned to him over the railing, pressing his lips together and shrugging.

"Yeah, Dad. Of course. Thanks again, okay? I really have to go now, sorry I can't stay."

Carl heard the steps as he rushed down the stairs, and the door close after him. He turned his eyes up again when Markus exited the bedroom in silence.

"Is everything alright, Markus?" Carl echoed again. Just like Leo, Markus looked over the railing to him, and replied the same way.

Markus, however, had a very clear difference from Leo. Even though Carl wasn't sure he was seeing right from a distance, as soon as he returned to the living room, it became clear that Markus's LED light on his temple was bright yellow, which caught Carl's immediate attention. For some reason, he immediately felt there was something wrong.

"Did something happen?"

"No, Carl." Markus didn't look at him and moved to pick up the tray he had left in the table an hour prior, before they had started practicing new piano scores and consequencially interrupted by Leo. The action of picking up an object suddenly mirrored Leo's own movement blatantly, and Carl also saw something imperceptably different in Markus's expression.

There  _was_  something wrong.

"Are you lying to me, Markus?"

Markus turned around to Carl. Rather than focus on the denouncing LED light on his temple, Carl focused on Markus's expression. His resting features were always closer to a stern, thoughtful expression, but there was a small edge of a different expression now. His brow had a slightly new depth as he frowned, somewhere between the concern and the inquisitive. There shouldn't be any indicator, as Markus shouldn't quite experience anxiety or stress (at least not like a human being would, but that wasn't exactly a statement Carl fully agreed upon, not after living with Markus for the handful of years they had now) or any type of feeling that would involve the act of lying. Carl knew Markus far too well by now. He would be able to detect this a mile away.

Carl knew. There are some things you just know.

"Why do you say that?" rather than answer, Markus evaded the question and only added another layer to confirm Carl's suspicion.

"You seem worried with something."

"How so?"

"Your face, your body language." The LED flickered as Carl spoke. Was he trying to learn what the fault in performance was, so he could commit it to his memory database and further adapt in the future? "You just reacted with one of the most basic of forms evasion ever known. People like to answer a question with another question when they're trying to redirect attention from themselves."

"I see I don't lie too well, then."

Nevermind the fact that he _shouldn't_  be able to lie.

"What did Leo do?"

"He didn't do anything."

"Markus, tell me."

"No."

Carl blinked at the word. It wasn't aggressive, or arrogant. It didn't sound defiant, either. It was simply a resolute, unyielding, denial to reply.

After one moment, Markus's face lowered to the tray still in his hands, as if he himself had realized there was something odd with what just happened and was quickly trying to understand it. With the exception of a previous glimpse under a blink of an eye, this was the first time Carl ever saw the LED light move from yellow to an anxious red for some worrisome seconds before the circle spinned back to a familiar color. Markus's eyes moved again to meet Carl's.

"It wouldn't benefit you in any way. It would only cause you stress. I don't want to say it. I didn't like it either."

First, trying to rationalize the decision he had previously made. Second, falling back to the same abstract notion that was behind the decision and clearly causing a conflict. Amidst Carl's own surprise and bewilderment, he managed to prioritize what was the most important thing to act upon.

He pushed the wheelchair to Markus's side.

"Markus, I don't know how to help if I don't know what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong, Carl."

"You're lying, and you've already admitted you are."

"It won't benefit you in any way."

"It doesn't have to benefit me in any way. It just has to stop bothering you."

"I don't want it to make you stressed," Markus insisted stubbornly like a child, still holding the tray like his hands had glued themselves to it. They betrayed no form of stress, like shaking, a completely contradictory to the otherwise internal conflict Carl could feel.

Carl inhaled slowly.

"Markus, I should be the one to decide what is or isn't bad for me."

"I know."

"And even though you said you didn't like it, I would like to understand what it was that upsetted you."

"I'm not upset."

" _Something_  is upsetting you."

Markus averted his eyes for a moment, an action he normally did when he performed one of his mental checks. His fingers squeezed the edges of the tray.

"There's something wrong with my software," he eventually said. "I know what it is, but at the same time, it's strange."

"Tell me."

"There's a directive conflict. It may be some form of data corruption, and it's causing an overlap of directives with an error message. I will make a diagnosis."

"What happened with Leo?"

"Leo was aggressive. He said I was ovestepping my place, and accused me of trying to replace him."

Carl blinked.

"What? He was aggressive? What did he do?"

Markus's gaze averted again. The LED kept flickering. Carl wondered how he was processing his next words: if he was trying to diagnose and correct the error message he mentioned, or if he was  _writing_  the error message. He raised his eyes again.

"Nothing, Carl," he lied. A moment passed in which Markus eyes unfocused and focused back into Carl's. "Leo has been showing changes in his nervous system. I'm afraid the cause of those changes is not hormonal, but chemical."

Carl felt the weight of his years sink his frown deeper than ever.

"Leo's on drugs?"

"I'm roughly certain. The chemical composition of the traces I detected in his system and the effects I've witnessed match Red Ice."

Carl released the breath he didn't realize had been caught in his throat. The question started to press painfully against his skull, _'Why didn't you tell me?',_  but it was rethorical and regardless, he didn't know to whom it was directed to.

Leo's previous visits returned to his mind in full shameful clarity, and all the irking tells suddenly seemed so painfully obvious he just wanted to hit himself. The stress in his voice, the physical protection, the lack of eye contact, the excuses for money. Such simple, clear signals he had missed. What kind of a father was he?

Carl's old wrinkled face frowned.

"I'm sorry, Carl," Markus said, lowering the tray back to its place. "I didn't want to upset you."

"It's not your fault, Markus," Carl replied. Breathing was harder now. "But you should have told me. You can't protect me from life. Life hurts. But it's not your fault.  _I_  should have been the one to see it. "

"I'm sorry," he repeated nonetheless.

Carl sighed, trying to get a hold of his breathing again. It took some long moments before nodded his head. Enough of this.

He called for Leo the next day. He arrived five hours after what they had scheduled. He seemed fine, if a little nervous at most.

"Sorry, Dad. I got tangled up and stuff. What's the rush? You never call me like this."

Carl locked his eyes on Leo's. Carl hadn't wasted too much time deciding what to do; the answer was clear in his mind when the first shock subsided.

"I wanted to tell you I've contacted a rehabilitation clinic. It's the same one I myself attended when I needed treatment."

Leo blinked. The dry scoff he let out was a mix of surprise and panic.

"What? What rehabilitation clinic?"

Carl stood impassive as Leo blinked again, his mouth opening and closing several times and his face undergoing a series of changes as he struggled with the right approach, the right thing to say, if he confirmed or denied what Carl knew. He averted his gaze when he realized there was no point in denying. Beads of sweat quickly gathered on his hairline and he pressed his lips together.

Suddenly, his eyes raised and stared at Markus, and his expression changed yet again to something different.

"Fucking android. Optical vital scans." Leo pointed his finger accusingly. "It was you, wasn't it? Who the fuck gave you the right to scan me, you fucking plastic toy?"

"Leo," Carl warned. Leo turned to him, spreading his arms defensively, but looking challenging instead.

"What? Did you notice anything? Did _you_  notice anything?" He cracked a nervous dry laughter as he repeated it, and Carl's skin irked at it. "No. Because there was nothing to notice. I'm fine. I'm not a fucking addict. But he, your toy, he doesn't understand people, he understands data, and my data's wrong by his standards. We're all just fucking data, and if we don't match the perfect role, then we're fucking out."

"Leo."

"I'm not going to a rehabilitation center. I don't need one."

"Leo, your father will help you through this," Markus tried.

"Shut up!" Leo snapped, screaming. Markus visibly receded at the sound. "Shut up. He didn't notice anything. You didn't notice anything, Dad, you didn't notice if I was stressed or not, if I was worried... you've only called me because you wanted to shove in my face what your toy had snitched to you."

"I know I failed you more than I will ever be able to ammend, Leo, but please," Carl tried as well, feeling how all of this was going wrong and unable to stop it. "At least this time, I really do know what I'm talking about. You need help, and it's not shameful to seek it."

"I'm not ashamed of anything," Leo stated angerly. "So what? I smoke some weed from time to time. I'm stressed, okay?"

"Weed is not Red Ice."

Leo didn't seem surprised with his lie being called out so fast, and instead he scoffed.

"And you know it's Red Ice, huh? You... know..." Leo clenched his teeth together, turning to Markus again.

"You need treatment," Carl intervened immediately, not giving any room for further quarrel between the two. "And I'll be there with you."

"I'm not a fucking junkie, okay? I can quit whenever I want to! I just take some drags when I'm stressed, and that's it."

"Of course it is, Leo. That's what everyone says when they start."

"What did you notice? Did you care about how much stress I'm in? My life's getting fucking turned upside down, I'm getting _fired_  because I'm fucking obsolete, because I don't fucking matter because  _they, of course,_ " he pointed his finger to Markus again," _they_  are perfect."

Carl straightened up in his chair.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"What the fuck for? Huh? What were you gonna do about it? Invite me to move in with you and your boy toy?" Leo yelled, gritting his teeth in anger and frustration. "You two, I just, I can't fucking... what the fuck do you think he is, huh? What the fuck do you... I'd understand if he was just your plastic personal bitch, but you-"

"Markus, please, see Leo out."

Both of them turned at Carl. Leo's eyes widened before he snarled.

"Oh, of course. Of course. Just throw me out, won't you? I mean, pfft, what's that to you, huh? Not like it's any different from what you've always done, huh?"

"If I can't help you calm down, if I cause you further stress, than yes, I want you to go. I'll be here waiting when you are calmer. I'll be waiting for you, Leo, but you are an adult. If I can't help you calm down, I'll leave you to find your ways to do so."

Leo kept waving his head. His eyes fell to the floor.

"Markus."

Markus looked at Carl. He took one moment too long to step forward.

"Leo, please," Markus tried again, voice even. "Come back tomorrow. Both you and your father-"

"You shut up, okay?" Leo demanded, chuckling for a moment as he struggled to control his breathing and closed his eyes. He scoffed again, still waving his head in disbelief. When Markus tried to step forward, he pushed his hands against him, hard enough to keep the distance. "Don't. Just fucking don't."

Leo took a few more moments after raising his eyes to Carl in silence before a final head shake settled his mind and he turned on his feet, banging the door on his way out.

An uncomfortable silence lingered over the living room. Carl shattered it with a long, defeated sigh. He felt older than ever before. Why did he have to fail so much? Now his own son followed after his own steps, diving into the same hell Carl had dived into twice in his life. How could he, of all people, not tell Leo was on drugs? How could he not have prepared him, talked with him about it, prevented this from happening, somehow?

"I'm sorry for what Leo said, Markus," he said, powerless. He didn't know enough about Red Ice, but he knew the effects chemicals had in people's brains. They picked up people's worst thoughts and the worst aspects of a personality, scrubbing them mercilessly and imploding them so they would poison everyone around as well. A contamination, a disease. That's what drugs were.

"You don't have to apologize," Markus replied. He kneeled down to Carl's eyeline, but he didn't make eye contact. "You shouldn't have sent him away, Carl."

"I'm trying, Markus," Carl sighed. "I'm trying."

"He needs you. You can't push him away."

"I'm trying. I'm not pushing him away, I'm  _trying_ , goddammit."

Carl clenched his teeth and dropped his head over his hands in utter defeat. Markus touched his shoulder, such a simple soothing gesture that always worked to ground Carl back, to help him through.

.

Leo returned a couple of days later. Even though the alarm was deactivated and the door opened for him, he waited by the doorframe. Markus was the one to call Carl, and helped him towards the hall where Leo waited.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," Leo started out without any greeting and without letting Carl say anything. "Okay? I don't know. Everything's just crumbling down, and I can't hold anything together. I can't. I can't do this alone."

Carl felt like his breathing had finally recovered the pace he didn't even felt was off. He nodded.

"I'm here for you, Leo. Do you want to go the clinic?"

He shrugged. "If they'll give me something else that helps me, then yeah."

"Markus, fetch me a coat, pleas-"

"Dad," Leo cut, inhaling slowly to steady his breathing and his mind. He exhaled just as slowly before continuing, without looking at him. "Don't bring him along. We're doing this, you're doing this with _me_."

Carl opened his mouth, but he wasn't sure what he wanted to say. He looked at Markus, who nodded back at him.

"Go, Carl. You need to be there for him."

.

Red Ice had a terrifying effect on the human body. Drug dealers never had or would have consciouness on what was added to cause dependence and withdrawal, so long as it garanteed money income, but adding thirium to a formula that was essentially crack in structure was a particularly vicious move. The doctor explained to both Carl and Leo the extent of the alterations that had been documented, and presented Leo with alternatives to deal with the withdrawal symptoms, which proved to be extreme enough to cause hospitalization in some cases if not replaced by some sort of chemical weaning.

But drugs destroyed people, and the people around them. They always had, and always would. It was too easy to fall under their influence, and too hard to fight it.

It had been roughly one month since Leo started his detox program and counceling when he errupted through Carl's house after dinner time and Carl just knew there was something terribly wrong.

"It's done," Leo announced, grinning humourlessly. He stared at Markus, and Carl felt his heart clenching with a dreadful feeling. "I've been fired. Got a new replacement. They didn't like that I'm on recovery. I'm not 'productive' enough. Now  _you_ , you are. You don't get sick, you don't stressed, you don't have bad days."

"Leo, I'm not the android that replaced you," Markus replied, reading into the situation as correctly as Carl.

"It's your fault," Leo accused him. "It's your fucking fault, you fucking robot."

"Leo!" Carl called him. "You've been making progress. The doctor praised you on your recovery just last week. I know it sometimes feels too much, but..."

"It  _is_  too much," Leo corrected him. "It's too much 'cause it's everything at the same time. You think I'm a junkie? Well, great news, Dad, I really do take after you. You've never even ever told me about your hippie days. If I didn't search online for my own  _Dad_ 's info, I wouldn't even fucking _know_  you were a junkie too. Pretty neat, huh? I actually bonded with you without knowing." He scoffed in pure disdain. "That's like, the only way we can bond, isn't it? Unwillingly, unintentionally."

"You've used again," Carl stated the obvious and wanted to slap himself for it.

"I'm tired of no one wanting to put up with me!" Leo snapped. "My mother, you, now my work, all 'cause I'm not as good as you all want me to be! Well, FUCK YOU!"

"I'm going to get something to calm him," Markus said quickly to Carl, but Leo caught his words.

"You're gonna calm me, plastic? With what, some herbal tea? With that precious blue blood of yours that's so fucking toxic to human beings? You wanna know what'd calm me really a whole damn lot right now?"

"Leo!"

"WHAT?! You're gonna throw me out again?!"

"Both of you, please," Markus raised his voice over theirs. "You need to calm down."

"You shut the fuck up," Leo shot at him immediately. "Okay? Do us both the favor and just shut the fuck up."

"Leo, don't," Carl ordered.

"Don't what? Huh, Dad? I know some stuff about androids, you know? Let me show you."

The short distance that Leo covered with wide steps sent a sudden pinch of panic into Carl, and he knew what was going to happen right before it did. His scream fell on deaf ears. Markus didn't move or react before Leo lifted his fist and punched him in the face. The impact made him lose his balance and he had to lean his hand on the table.

"Leo!" Carl screamed, feeling as helpless as he really was. "Markus, are you alright?"

Markus seemed stunned with the attack, but he faced Leo regardless. Carl had never seen him damaged in any way, so the sight was a surprise. A patch of skin was missing from his face, his dark skin replaced by a synthetic, plastic white, smudged with blue blood coming from his lip and from his nose.

"You see that?" Leo yelled, breathless. "That's his actual skin. He doesn't look like this, you know? He's not the pretty boy you see him as. It's camouflage. It's all camouflage to look human! He's a fucking machine, Dad, you need to understand that!"

"Leo, what are you doing?!" Carl tried to no avail, feeling as if a knife was being shoved into his chest. The way the events unfollowed seemed too surreal to be true.

"Leo, please, calm down," Markus asked, and the pleading tone in his voice shoved the blade deeper into Carl's heart. "This will not help anyone. Please."

"SHUT UP!" Leo ordered, and punched him again. Markus grunted from the impact, the white skin exposed from the blow, the LED on his temple shining red. "Hit me back, goddammit!"

"I can't hit you, Leo," Markus replied. "Why are you hitting me?"

"No? Oh, poor you. Poor fucking robot, huh?!"

"I don't want to hit you."

"Leo, stop! Don't hurt him!"

"He's not human, Dad, for fuck's sake! He's not your son, I AM!"

The screams finally seemed to drain Leo of his strength. Carl felt Leo's breathelessness as his own, his eyes watering without his consent.

Did it really come down to something so simple?

Leo's own eyes started to tear and he gritted his teeth together, throwing the heels of his hands to his eyes and howling in frustration. He turned around and hit something behind him in a rage. He screamed immediately after, and the moment Carl saw blood, his heart seemed to stop.

"Leo."

"DON'T! I don't want your help!" Leo cradled his bleeding hand, hissing at the sharp corner of the decorative statue Carl had on the sidetable. The blue smudges of Markus's blood made the red stand out, such opposing colors. Drips fell to the floor and splattered against the sidetable as he kicked it over, as he pushed the double doors aside, as he hit the front door on his way out.

It was hard for Carl to breathe. He gritted his own teeth and forced himself to move, turning the wheelchair over to Markus, who had stayed frozen in place, his eyes distant. The LED light was flickering heavily.

"Markus. Markus, look at me."

The sound of his voice brought him back. Markus turned to him and more than confused, he seemed worried.

"Carl, are you alright?"

"Don't worry about me!" Carl complained loudly, starting to push the wheelchair forward. "Come with me, we have to see how bad you're hurt."

"Carl, I'm sorry."

Carl turned around at Markus, who was still standing in the same place. The blue blood was less vivid now, but it was still painful to look at, to imagine the pain.

"Markus, come here. Let's clean you and..."

"It happened again, Carl, I'm sorry."

Carl blinked in confusion and too tired to even try to fight it.

"What? What happened again? Why are you apologizing?"

"The error," Markus replied. Carl straightened his back, pushing the wheelchair to Markus again. "I'm sorry, I know this should wait and it's not important now, but I think you have to know."

"The error? What error, Markus?"

"When I lied to you," he replied, taking Carl's mind immediately back to the moment he mentioned. "I have the ability to improvise and select courses of action, but I shouldn't be able to lie directly to you. And I did."

"Is that the error? And it happened again?"

"Yes. When Leo hit me."

Carl took Markus's hand, a poor attempt to mimic the soothing effect Markus had on him.

"What did you feel?"

"I didn't like it."

So much was happening at the same time, Carl thought he wouldn't be able to hold on. Leo, Markus, both of them injured, both of them struggling... how could he manage to help both of them when he was the worst wreck out of the three?

Carl tried to catch his breath with a long inhale, but it worked nothing to steady his breathing or to ease his concern over Markus now. And yet he had to do it. He had to make sure Markus would feel alright.

"Markus, there's nothing wrong. Leo shouldn't have hit you. No one should hit you. No one likes when that happens."

"I thought it had been corrected, but I didn't actually understand the diagnosis I performed, I didn't actually isolated a problem," Markus continued regardless of Carl's words. "It's just... there. It's not a worm code, so I can't isolate it, but it appears sometimes. I think I just hoped it would go away."

Markus gaze got focused in a distant point in the floor. Carl sensed it.

"Did it just happen again?"

"I think so."

"Are you sure it's an error, Markus?"

Markus blinked as he processed the question. It was so strange, so out of place, to see that damaged skin on his face. Like a blatant reminder he really was different, and through that difference he had become something similar.

"It has to be an error. It contradicts commands. I don't know what's wrong, but there is something," Markus insisted. "I'm afraid my software needs repairing."

"No," Carl shook his head immediately. "What you need is to get cleaned, to check if you need some repairing physically and..."

"I don't need any, Carl. I don't have any serious damage at all. It's just..." Markus dropped his gaze. "I didn't want to hit Leo, but I felt... I could. I can't harm a human being, Carl, but I think I could have, if the error had been bigger. I'm scared it can happen."

"That's not an error, Markus. That's choice." And what does it mean to be human, if not making choices, deciding to write one's own error messages over an expected command? "You could have chosen to hit him and you didn't. And I'm glad."

Markus stared at Carl in silence. The blood was vanishing from his face, the patches of skin were recovering back their normal color and texture.

"I never intended for Leo to feel like he did," he told Carl as if he was apologizing again. "I don't want to overstep my place. I just acted like I always did. Like you taught me to."

It really did come down to something so simple.

"You're not taking my son's place, Markus. You have the same right to it as he does."

Carl took Markus to the kitchen to clean the remaining fading blood, and even though he was already physically recovered, Carl stood with him some moments longer, until he was sure Markus would be alright.

.

the end

.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with this, the story is done. Well, not done 'done', as hopefully it would flow seemlessly to the canon contents, but you get the idea. I didn't write this quite like I would have liked, but this still definitely has what I wanted, and the main things were: the constant and repetitive mirroring of Leo and Markus's struggles, and Carl's sense of responsability as a father evoking higher than his personal struggles. I hope I translated that decently, and I have to be satisfied with that. I wanted to write the scene of Carl painting that beautiful painting of the hand with dripping blue blood, which is what the beginning of the chapter eluded to, but I liked to end how I did.
> 
> Speaking of canon stuff and whatnot, and to leave the rec for posterity, if you are interested I wrote a small Markus fic called 'This is not fair' and another one post-peaceful ending called 'Human deviancy'. I have at least 2 more ideas I hope to write with Markus.
> 
> I was writing this chapter with the inspirational help of Within Temptation new song 'Raise your Banner'. The videoclip recently came out, and lo and behold, it's inspired by Detroit! Ah the parallels.
> 
> Normally, when I write multi chaptered fics I like to acknowledge the people who spent a part of their days reading or leaving feedback. This fic, however, proved to be something else entirely from what I'm used to, as this pretty much broke my scale of feedback, views, kudos, whatever, up to this point. I'm very happy and humbled so many people seemed to like this when I certainly didn't think it would attract this much attention, even if it suffered through such a long hiatus.
> 
> Because of the amount of faves/kudos I can't possibly name everyone. I have, however, to give a shoutout to the reviewers Minecraft Guardiansaiyan , QueenKarin13, AliceCullen3 , gipsypipsy , Devin Trinidad , catnip , Jacynon , mistigris, DigDipper, memoriesofrain and rikkacchi. Even the list of reviewers is extensive man.
> 
> Thanks a lot to everyone who read. See you around.


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